Know Which Way The Wind Blows
by SpinelessSithposting
Summary: A chemistry graduate with a sordid history of cat burglary finds herself once again, in the clutches of MI6. The bosses are arrogant and the double oh's too flirty for her liking, but the quartermaster is tolerable. Q/OC with slight Eve/OC if you squint. Rated M for coarse language and eventual smut.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This story starts before Skyfall and will most likely continue on through the events of Skyfall and Spectre. It pretty much involves all of the canon characters (Bond, M, Moneypenny, Q etc.) with the addition of my OC Julia. This chapter is all from her perspective, although the POV may change in later chapters depending on how cheeky I'm feeling.

* * *

I don't know how I got there, or where the _fuck_ Wilson was. All I knew was that I was sat handcuffed in a 2X2 prison cell with no windows and a large, metallic door. I could remember being knocked unconscious as soon as the police arrived; probably Wilson's handiwork, I realized dully. Why he thought it was a good idea to clobber me over the head immediately before being arrested was beyond my knowledge, but that by far wasn't the dumbest thing he'd done that week. I realized, much to my own disgust, that I missed him. Sure he was over 40, annoying, and balding in all the wrong places but we were partners, and had seen each other through some pretty shit states of affairs. In the cat burgling business, your partner was pretty much all you had if you gave a damn about not going to jail. Fat lot of good that would do me now.

I sat, twiddling my thumbs and trying to remember the last episode of _Black Mirror_ I'd watched, in an attempt to distract me from the fact that I was probably going away for a very long time. The MI6 had washed their hands of me, ever since I acted beyond my brief and retrieved (or more frankly stole) documents from the American embassy that I had no business being in possession of. _Bitches_ , I thought bitterly. Sure, I'd probably violated over 20 codes of conduct as well as several laws, but goddammit it was fun. Fuck the system, and all that jazz. In any case, I was done being the Secret Service's puppet. They had a tendency to pick up stray criminals and recruit them to carry out their dirty work. I had been one of the lucky ones. Or the unlucky ones. I still haven't made up my mind about which it is. My train of thought was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

I looked up and waited. Nothing.

Finally, the handle creaked and the door swung open, revealing a middle aged guard and a suited man, who I could only assume was an agent or detective.

"Miss Gillespie, I'm Detective Anders. If you could come with us." The suited man said clearly, ushering the guard into the cell.

"Yeah, sure. By the way guys, this place could really do with a makeover. The minimalism is cool, but god damn is the color scheme depressing. Maybe a bit of wallpaper to break up the monotony?" I said stupidly, not caring about what happened by this point. I was screwed anyway, so why not have a little fun?

The guard glared at me, and the detective gave me a wry smile. I suppose I deserved the extra hard yank the guard gave me as he pulled me from my cell by the hands. The two men led me in silence, through a gloomy corridor lit only by a few filament bulbs, pinned to the wall in various locations. They ushered me into a room, and after slamming the door behind me, all but threw me into a chair. Ouch.

"Gentle hands are hard to come by. You should be proud!" I said to the guard, beaming sarcastically. His lip curled, and I could vaguely make out the words "bitch" and "goner" as he walked away from me.

"A little louder?" I said, smirking. That was enough to push the detective over the edge.

"Listen to me, Gillespie. You're full of shit and everyone knows it, but at least, make my job quick and don't delay your incarceration any further. Tell me. How's life?" He said, suddenly breaking into a grin.

 _What the... what?_ I was taken aback by his sudden false friendliness. He was going way overboard with the good cop bad cop. I decided to bite back with one of my favourites.

"Life's good, detective Anders. I'd be dead without it."

He chuckled bitterly.

"I can see that you're something of a wordsmith. Why don't you channel it towards more useful purposes, rather than further disparaging my colleague and me?"

Heh. So _they_ were the ones being disparaged. I'd lost my calendar- was it opposite day? I sighed.

"Sure. What do you need me to do? Talk? Name, Julia Gillespie- professionally known as The Maddox, occupation, cat burglar, reason for incarceration- oh I dunno, possibly something to do with cat burglary? Tell me if I'm doing well. Or, how about we skip all this and you tell me where my partner is?" I said, not breaking eye contact with the detective. I was careful not to mention Wilson's name, to avoid incriminating him personally if he'd managed to get away.

He sighed, placing a hand on his head. He appeared to have given up on the fake friendliness. He flicked through the dossier in front of him, eyebrows furrowing with every new page he read.

"It says in your file that you're a chemistry graduate. Tell me, how does a girl who graduated with a highly technical degree end up in a prison cell for breaking and entering and attempted robbery?" He seemed to ignore my request for information about Wilson.

"Family business, I'd say. Wanted to follow in the footsteps of family members." I replied shortly. I was _not_ giving this fuck the satisfaction of getting to me. I opened my mouth to elaborate, but was interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone. I was partially glad that I had an excuse to concoct my next witticism, but also nervous. Who calls during an interrogation? Anders grunted and reached over, picking up the phone with the hand that he wasn't using the flick through my dossier.

"Detective Anders speaking, how can I help?" He said politely. As the other party replied, the color drained from his face, and he suddenly appeared very nervous. _"What?"_ He exclaimed, "Yes, yes she's here but why would you- yes, I understand but she's hardly an asset to your operations!" Anders said, trying to stay polite. I snorted, and resisted the urge to give him the finger. "You have a car _outside?_ " I looked up suddenly. What the hell was going on? "I haven't finished interrogating her, and she's due to appear in front of a judge on Monday? You can't just snatch suspects from under my nose, mister...quartermaster!" At the word _quartermaster,_ my eyes bulged and my brain started racing. I'd never met the quartermaster, but during my briefing at MI6 I had been made aware of Q-Branch and its head of department, the quartermaster. Why the hell were those boffins onto me? I could barely programme a chemistry simulation- I'd almost failed my computational chemistry module in Uni.

 _Oh hell no. No, no, no. Why the hell are they onto me? They discharged me and said they'd get off my back!_

I had a sudden urge to snatch the phone from Anders and tell this quartermaster to get bent. In those words exactly. Before I got a chance to seriously consider this course of action, I was being hauled away by the guard again. Anders stared at me as I left.

"Goodbye, Miss Gillespie. I trust we will not meet again."

Being dragged towards an almost certain death sentence stripped me of the balls to respond to Anders. I just shot him a blank look while being taken from the room, and went limp as I was shoved through the corridor. I went down one flight of stairs, and then another. And another. It began to feel like I was descending into hell, and time passed painfully slowly. Finally, I reached the foyer of the police station and spotted a black car with tinted windows waiting right outside. The guard smirked at me, and growled into my ear, "Not so sharp tongued are you now, girlie? Once the spooks have you, there's no going back."

I sighed.

"Don't you have pullovers to knit, Martin?" I said flatly, having eyed his name badge.

"Get the fuck in the car, you jumped up little cunt." He growled one last time, gripping my arm hard enough for it to hurt. Before he could do any more damage, a suited man stepped out of the car.

"Thank you. I'll take it from here, Martin." The man from the car ushered me in. I shot Martin one last dirty look before shutting the tinted door, and blocking out the miserable shit forever.

"Thanks, Agent Smith. I really thought he'd do some damage!" I said to the driver of the car. He didn't respond. "This is the part where you say no problem, Mr. Anderson." I waited. "Matrix? Keanu Reeves? No? Alright." I fell silent.

Behind my eighth-grade caliber humor, I felt sick to my stomach. I didn't want to end up back in the clutches of the MI6. Their head was decent enough, she was an elderly woman who I eventually came to respect somewhat, but at the end of the day, she had a job to do. That job was flushing out threats to the country, and by all rights, I was one. Not a big one, but a threat nonetheless. I wondered if my past employment with them would help my case at all. I hadn't received a loyalty card or anything, but if they remembered my services possibly they'd save the waterboarding at least? There was no denying I had talents. As much as I hated to toot my own horn back then, I had been a strategic genius, getting their agents in and out of extraction missions with great efficiency. I could imagine buildings perfectly, and plan a flawless route in and out for all purposes. Obviously since I was technically a criminal, they hadn't put me on file as an official MI6 agent, but they called me whenever they needed me.

 _That's right, kids. I was MI6's booty call for a while. And now I guess we're hooking up again._

I must've been very lost in my thoughts because before I knew it, the car skidded to a halt. The driver exited the front of the car, and left me inside while he spoke to a man outside. I could hear snippets of their conversation, but nothing substantial enough to make sense of. Eventually, he opened the door and spoke the six words that would change my life.

"The quartermaster is ready for you."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Content Warning ahead:** brief mentions of emotional/physical abuse._

* * *

 _I bet he is,_ I thought bitterly. The driver of the black car placed a hand on my shoulder and led me out of the car with a lot more grace than the prison security guard, I noted gratefully. The man he had been speaking to was stood against the hood of the car, arms folded and one foot resting against the car wheel. He eyed me suspiciously.

"Remind me why I'm being pulled from duty to supervise her?" He drawled lazily.

Arrogant bastard. I squinted in the dark, and could just about make out his basic features. He had a muscular build, and stood with the posture of someone who meant business. He had piercing blue eyes, which I was unable to meet for more than the briefest second. There was something about them that unsettled me. While admittedly beautiful, they had a funny glazed over look which gave me the impression that he was never really _looking_ at anything. From my experience, this meant one thing- long term, intense nihilism. These were the eyes of someone who had seen enough of life, and was patiently waiting for its end. I shivered.

"Agent Bond, I apologize if you would much rather be elsewhere, but I directly answer to M. Orders state that you are to accompany the girl to the Quartermaster's office, and then report to M." The driver replied professionally, with no tangible emotion in his voice.

The prospect of being left along with this Bond character unsettled me greatly. He was decent looking and probably harmless since I had to be handed over to MI6 and was therefore protected for the time being, but that didn't take away from the fact that he scared me. Really scared me. By no means was he the monster that parents told their children about at night, but there was something about the detached look in his eyes that messed with my head. This guy could slaughter a village and go home happy the same day.

 _That's where you're headed if you don't find something to care about,_ said a voice at the back of my head. I remembered an old saying of my father's _("How you feel about another person says more about you than it does them")_ and began to wonder just how much that saying applied to me now. Was I about to shoot up a grocery store? No. But I definitely had very little to live for- at least since Alice had left. Maybe Bond and I had some common ground. He turned his blond head towards me, and took my arm.

"Suppose you're with me then. We don't want to keep old Q waiting, so we'd best get moving." He said, with an air of mirth in his voice.

"Do I get the cyanide capsule now or later?" I asked, nonplussed. He chuckled.

"Well, at least you have a sense of humour- I find that helps infinitely when tolerating Q." While his voice was relatively warm, I could tell that chitchat was over. He began to walk me through a pair of iron handled doors, and then into a glum corridor. On the opposite end was a woman who appeared around 25 years in age, dressed in smart but casual clothing. A pinstriped blazer sat atop her plain white shirt, and she wore dark coloured jeans with knee length boots. If I wasn't about to be third degreed by the head of the MI6's tech department, I probably would've asked for her number.

"Moneypenny." Bond said, smiling devilishly at the woman who now had her hip cocked and one foot resting against the wall.

"Hello 007. Q's just inside" She responded, trying to keep the smile off her face. I should've known- of _course_ she was smitten with Bond. Ah well, bygones. "Is this the... interviewee?" Moneypenny continued, eyeing me curiously. Bond nodded.

 _"_ That's a funny way of pronouncing 'torture victim.'" I bit back.

Moneypenny scoffed. "We must have some bad PR if you think you're here to be tortured."

I raised my eyebrows. This was interesting. If I wasn't there to be tortured, what the hell was I there for?

"Oh yeah?" I instead replied. "What did you bring me here for if not to get rid of me? Don't tell me you need me for another job. You washed your hands of me long ago." I could feel myself getting fired up. If there was one thing I couldn't stand, it was the belief that MI6 was an angelic organisation that totally _didn't_ recruit petty criminals to do their dirty work. I had been 22 when they first contacted me. Three years later, I was a wanted figure and had burnt most bridges with the people around me- not that it mattered. People, in my experience at least, had a tendency to suck donkey dick.

Moneypenny's eyes furrowed. I could tell that she was mildly uncomfortable. She didn't have time to respond, as a male voice from inside the room we stood outside of called us in.

"Bring her in!" A heavily English-accented voice called. The voice, I could only assume, belonged to the Quartermaster himself. Bond grinned, and took my arm once again. He muttered something unintelligible as he pulled me towards the wooden door, past Moneypenny who was still standing lazily against the wall. I took one last look at her, before entering the room after Bond. Looking around, I could see no dastardly instruments of torture, just filing cabinet after filing cabinet. On a dilapidated window sill sat a spindly plant which appeared to be in dire need of sunlight. Everywhere I looked, the paint was peeling off the walls. I spent so long taking in the details of my surroundings that I almost didn't notice the man sitting at a table opposite.

"Hello." He said, way too quietly for a man of his ranking. I lifted my eyes, and did a double take.

 _That is not what I was expecting._ The man sitting in front of me wasn't a white haired, lab coat wearing quartermaster from a spy movie. He was a twenty-something dweeb with unruly dark brown hair, and spectacles which were two sizes too big. In the dim light, I could see that he was wearing a mustard button-up sweater and a plain tie. I had to resist the urge to ask which thrift store he'd bought his cardigan from.

 _"_ Hi." I replied shortly. My brain was going at a mile a minute, way too fast for my mouth to reasonably keep pace with. This was not what I had expected at all- there was no way that this boffin who looked fresh out of Uni could be MI6's quartermaster. There was something about his genial dress-sense and soft-spokenness that reminded me of my grandparents at Christmas. That was a weird thought though, so I banished it from my mind almost as quickly as it had arrived.

He must have noticed my surprise, because his lips curled up in a small smile, and he invited me to take a seat. I slowly accepted.

"You must be wondering why you're here, Julia."

I was _Julia,_ now? Not 'Gillespie' or 'jumped up little cunt?'

"Actually yes. I can't see any instruments of torture around, so my initial assumption about you bringing me in for interrogation seems to be wrong."

The young Quartermaster chuckled.

"You have such little faith in our organisation, Miss Gillespie."

That struck a nerve.

" _Faith?"_ I spat. "Excuse my cynicism, but your organisation recruited me out of the blue, got me to do their dirty work for a year all while not being on the official payroll of course, and then dropped me back into my crummy studio apartment once they were done with me. You seriously can't be expecting me to bend over for you fuc-" I stopped myself. The Quartermaster raised his eyebrows. " _Criminals."_ I continued carefully. As much as I wanted to cuss the everloving shit out the MI6 in front of him, I decided that it probably wouldn't be the best course of action considering my position in comparison to his. "Besides," I continued, "What does Q-Branch want with me anyway? I can barely programme a chemistry simulation, and I break all laptops within a year of buying them. I'd be a liability to your operations to say the least."

The quartermaster sighed and placed both hands on the table in front of him. He could see that he'd have his work cut out for him.

"Julia, I'm not going to pussyfoot around this." He began. "Ever since the explosion of our London headquarters, we've been in the dark. Our main strategic operator was killed in the blast and we haven't been able to replicate his work at all. We need someone to lead the strategy department, and your work there is the best on file."

My eyes widened. He didn't _seriously_ mean... What the hell was going on?

"You don't seriously mean that I'm to lead a department, quartermaster." I asked, expecting him to burst into laughter and call in an armed guard to shoot me dead. It would have been a cruel trick, but no less than I probably deserved. But no mocking laughter came. Instead, a surprising smile was etched on his face.

"That's exactly what I mean. You're probably wondering why it is me interviewing you, but M is... indisposed as of the current time. When she is available, you will be transferred over to her. I was the one who came across your work from the Quantum days, and I was the one who recommended you as a replacement for the late head of strategy. You must forgive us for picking you up under such crude circumstances, but time is of the essence. We cannot wait another minute. If you accept, you shall be transported to your new lodgings and briefed. If not?" He smiled grimly, "there's a car outside ready to take you back to Detective Anders for questioning. And call me Q. Quartermaster is quite the mouthful."

 _Jesus Christ,_ I thought, flabbergasted. I had just embarked on a lengthy rant as to why I would never work for MI6 again, but the more Q spoke, the more tempting his offer became. This would mean official employment, not just dark dealings in shady buildings. I sighed to myself.

For the first time in a while, I thought about my life.

Alice, my ex-girlfriend had took off two years ago and left a mess behind. She burned like the sun. Everywhere she went, everyone she touched would burst into flames. When we met, I was 19 and midway through a chemistry degree. When she left? I was 21 and while I had my degree, I'd lost everything else. For the first few months of our relationship, she made it her personal mission to cut me off from my friends. Of course at the time, I chalked it up to her _loving_ me so much. My dipshit of a younger self would never have even _dreamed_ that the woman I'd just met would have a more nefarious plan for me. The screaming matches came later and eventually, so did the black eyes. By the time I became her puppet, I was too far in to leave. The rest was history.

She gave me a gateway into crime and a hell of an inferiority complex. What else had she given me?

"Miss Gillespie? What say you?" Q asked, noting my descent into introspection.

The words came out of my mouth quicker than I could process them.

"Yeah, I'll do it."


End file.
